Reparations
by Decantate
Summary: "I look at Anora and just… Elissa, I love you so much."  A one shot of what remains for Elisa Cousland after Amaranthine burns.  Alistair/Elissa/Anders love triangle.


"I won't say that the crown isn't grateful for your actions, but there is talk that the burning of the City of Amaranthine was used to centralize the Wardens' power in Vigil's Keep."

The fire in the brazier snapped and made the King's hair appear ruddier. It also made the stains on the walls of the hall appear that they were made of shadows instead of blood. Elissa only arched an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes a little.

Alistair released a small sigh as the silence lengthened. "I will do what I can to aid the arling."

* * *

That night, Elissa drank half of a bottle of wine before the hearth in her room. The bottle had been one of the very few salvaged from the remains of the kitchen, making her gluttony a selfish gesture, but she found herself caring less as the heat in her stomach suffused to her limbs. She didn't notice when the door opened, and turned late at the sound of it shutting.

"Elissa, please."

She stood as the King approached, still not speaking. He read her eyes and yet still came.

"I'm sorry. I said I was sorry. I'm so sorry. What can I do?" He reached for her, his bare fingers sliding into her hair. His voice dropped, husky and uncertain. "I look at Anora and just… Elissa, I love you _so_ much. I was such a fool, you do know that, of course, but I know it too. I should've insisted that you be my Queen. I don't know how to do this without you."

He lowered his head to hers, his mouth as familiar as her own skin, and in her mind bloomed the memories, her heart beating quick for him, his lips growing sure as they parted hers, the scratch of his beard and the scent of his skin. Her love for him pulsed like the wine, stung every part of her, and she tipped against him with a sob. He broke the kiss, eyes opening wide.

"Elissa, I—" and he stopped the moment that the knife touched his throat.

"Get out," she said, voice breaking just a little.

"You're drunk. Just listen to—"

"There is deathroot on the blade, your majesty," she interrupted. "Get out."

The door slammed shut behind him and she made it to her bed before really crying, where she was able to muffle the sounds of it in the pillow.

* * *

"Which one of us do you think she'll kill first for this?" asked Sigrun. She was just a bit bent over, her lockpicks making tiny metallic sounds.

"Considering that I'll be placing the blame squarely at your feet…" Anders drawled. He lifted his hands when she stopped working. "A joke, a joke! I won't even tell her."

Sigrun quietly snorted, and then the door opened. Anders grinned at her and slipped inside.

* * *

Elissa was a lump in the bed and Anders's breath caught, but when he approached, he saw the blanket moving with her breath. "Elissa…" She didn't respond, and he pulled down the blanket to burrow his fingers in her hair. It was dark and fine and curled over his skin; her cheek was reddened, save for an old white scar.

"He's gone," he said next. He leaned down to kiss her cheek and her eyes pinched further shut. He slid down beside her and settled his arm into the dip of her waist. "I don't know what you did, but he slunk out quite early in the morning. So, good work there."

"I'm sorry, Anders." Her voice was rough, as if from sleep or crying, and though her words shot fear down his spine, he nuzzled his face into the short hairs at the back of her neck and kissed her there. She shivered a little, and his heart swelled, smug that he brought that shiver out of her and not the King.

"Why?"

"You deserve better than this." She shifted to fit herself more comfortably against him.

"Better than the Warden-Commander of Ferelden? The Hero?" he slipped his hand under her cheek and started moving his lips toward her mouth. "I've managed to thoroughly convince you of my charms, I see. You were a stubborn woman but I knew there was hope."

She chuckled a little. "No, I meant—"

"I know," said Anders. "I know." Her mouth parted and his tongue dipped into the warmth of it as he moved his body over hers. Her fingers wound tight in his hair, she arched up with sudden need, and when she parted her thighs it was Anders, not Alistair, that she cradled between her legs. It was this thought that made his heart lurch, that drew the small sound from his throat.


End file.
